


Immodesty

by extryn



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adelaide Gallery, Biting, Canon-Typical Behavior, Clothing Kink, Consent Issues, Episode: s12e02 Spyfall Part 2, F/M, Minor Violence, Murder Kink, Partial Nudity, Public Humiliation, Skin Hunger, That Kneeling Scene, Time Lord Sexuality (Doctor Who), Tissue Compression Eliminator, Victim Blaming, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn
Summary: The Master is particularly intrigued by the Doctor's definition of public decency.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	Immodesty

**Author's Note:**

> The content of this fic is entirely just Dhawan!Master biting Thirteen on the leg while leering at her.
> 
> Note: this fic plays with the fanon that for Time Lords, clothing ought to cover ankles, wrists, and necks, and anything else is basically nudity.

‘Don’t move,’ the Master hisses, eyes locked to a point somewhere near her feet.

She freezes mid-sprawl, propped on the ground with her legs splayed, a hand thrown back down to support her weight.

Vicious, the Master kicks it out from under her. ‘I told you not to move.’

She’s wary. Still trying to figure this one out, hasn’t got the hang of him, not yet. But he’s already killed three people, and she can see him itching to kill more.

He can’t kill her, though. Won’t. Not yet.

‘Alright,’ she says, and tilts her chin up to look him in the eye. ‘Not moving, see? You can put that away now.’

The Master looks at his TCE as if he’s never seen it before, like it’s some severed limb he’s caught on instinct after she lobbed it at him. And then he crouches down, between her feet, his breath coming thick and his hand shaking around it.

The Doctor squints at the device, a little sideways. ‘Is that a vape pen?’

Rage hangs in quantum uncertainty, an expression she feels fracturing off him like a timeline instead of the flicker of emotion darkening his eyes. No, he isn’t angry. The potential settles into a warm hunger, and he extends his hand instead, offering her the TCE. ‘Perhaps you should suck on it and find out.’

‘Not much of a smoker,’ the Doctor admits, ‘Rather not.’

The Master chuckles, soft at first, and then harsh. ‘Prefer other vices, do you?’ he says, and flicks the cuff of her trouser leg with the barrel of the TCE.

Instinctively, she flinches from the touch. He reacts without ever making a decision; shoots a man, cowering three feet to her right. The clatter of his shrunken mass striking the parquetry carries sharply across the gallery. ‘What did I tell you, Doctor? Because, I _did_ tell you, I’ve told you twice, now, and I’m starting to think you’re not listening.’

She considers him. His eyes are shining, mouth parted. Other hand hovering somewhere beside her knee, trapped in mid-air by the warring of his needs. She needs to take the safe option, and doesn’t know what it looks like anymore.

‘You told me not to move,’ the Doctor says, and watches him carefully.

He sinks back onto his knees in relief. And, there he is again, eyes carving a line from inseam to boot. The thought occurs to him as if he hadn’t considered it until now; he reaches for her, a set of fingers spreading over the inside of her calf.

‘Doctor,’ he purrs, ‘what’s this?’

She’s almost a microsecond too late to stop herself pulling her foot away. ‘What’s what? Haven’t you seen a leg before?’

The Master grins towards his fingertips, nudging aside downy hair, tracing the bone of her shin. ‘Not this one,’ he says, and flicks his eyes up to her. Unable to flinch in body, she does in mind, dropping the eye contact the second he makes it.

‘You know what they’d say, your humans,’ the Master considers, tapping the TCE against her boot, ‘You’re just _asking_ for it. Dressing like that.’

Astonished, the Doctor turns her eye at him. ‘I’m what?’

‘Exposing yourself,’ he sneers. ‘Look, it’s all,’ he shoves his hand up her pant leg as far as it’ll go, all the way behind her knee, ‘ _loose_.’

‘Master,’ she warns, irritation sharpening her voice, twisting the title out of his grasp. She can almost see the moment the hurt slips between his defenses.

He pushes the cuff over her knee and spits back, ‘Whore.’

The weight behind that word lands uncomfortably in her stomach. It isn’t just the gleam in his eyes, or the way the touch of his fingers alone sends more sensation up her spine than this body has ever received, or the abrupt shift she feels in the human horror surrounding them. It’s the way her clothes feel too-tight, her body trapped within them, her skin crawling everywhere it feels its own touch. The way she must look, the startled revulsion she can feel tightening in her jaw.

He folds her sock down, lovingly, tucks the cuff of her boot inside it to expose the length of her calf, ankle to knee. She shifts, and every minute movement away from him drags her left trouser leg further up her knee, a spreading stain of pale skin to match the flesh he’s uncovered on her right.

‘That’s enough,’ she says, and almost sits up - she’s _done_ playing along with this routine, the rubbed-raw repetition of it - until she feels the outline of the TCE, the cold shock of it pressed along her ankle.

‘Good girl,’ he whispers, all mockery, and she doesn’t have the luxury of correcting him.

‘Don’t do this,’ she says, with much less desperation than she feels. ‘Not here.’

He lowers his head between her knees, grinning up at her, chin inches away from her crotch. ‘Are we feeling modest, now, love? Bit late.’

He backs off, her body nearly slumping around an exhale, and then his _\- God_ , his _mouth_ \- latches onto the meat of her calf. She gasps, a high-pitched, soft little noise that is piercing to her own ears, a hand flying up to catch it before anybody sees, too late. His tongue, lips, are so soft, her skin so raw, and the breeze and the rasp of woollen fibres and the gentle scrape of blades of grass have not prepared her for it, not in this lifetime nor in those of the bodies past.

Now he’s put the idea in her mind, she can’t help imagine it. His mouth on her cunt.

He bites down, a second or two of warning before he puts real muscle into it, and she stiffens and stifles her cry with the hand fisted over her mouth.

He pulls back, sucks, releases her leg with a wet smack. Just long enough for her to see the purpling ring of bite-marks, the unique imprint of his teeth, new as her own, long enough to hiss at her, unquestionable as a bullet, ‘Don’t _move_.’

It hurts worse the second time.

She needs to pull away, the pain, the shock of his cool-hot mouth, his insides laving at her outsides, finding the hard edge of her shin and testing the mineral of it like his teeth are the diamond-tip of a sclerometer. She doesn’t want to, but she doesn’t even have the choice of wanting, she _can’t_.

In the end, it’s his greed, his absorption in her scarcely-strangled sobs and the desperation of the coarsening shake in her thigh that is his undoing. Like always. His teeth catch her right on the bone, and she can’t take it anymore, her left foot striking him in the shoulder so hard she feels the crunch reverberate through her hip.

He rears back, an awful, animal howl. She scrambles to her feet, leg threatening to collapse, saves her balance with a calculated swipe of her foot that sends the TCE skittering across the floor. He darts for it, just long enough to lose the iron grip of his peripheral awareness, and the Doctor gasps, ‘Ada, _now_.’


End file.
